Chapter Text
The thing is, she doesn’t even realize that Ash O’Neill cares that much about school in general -- much less about her class specifically -- until a random Thursday in early October when her 8th hour just won’t settle down and he stands up and says:
“Yo, y’all really need to shut the fuck up right now. Ms. Howard’s up here tryna make sure none of y’all end up on the streets and you’re not making her job any fucking easier.”
She’s not sure if it’s complete shock at what he’s just said, or abject fear at pissing off the kid that wears a perpetual scowl and has a face tattoo that makes the entire class go silent and immediately start working; either way, she has to admit she's impressed.
Ash glares at the entire class one more time before looking at her and giving a single nod, then sitting down with his bell work sheet in front of him.
She has to hide the smile that’s threatening to break through at the sight of him blithly working on identifying the poetic devices in front of him, as if he didn’t just stand up and cuss out the class, and as if the rest of her seventh graders aren’t shooting surreptitious, fearful glances at him like he’s a bomb ready to go off.
Instead, she gives the class her most severe teacher stare, does one loop around the room -- ostensibly to check that they’re doing the bell work -- before coming over to tap on Ash’s desk and gesturing towards the door so she can have a one on one with him.
He puts down his pencil and heads towards the door behind her, and it must speak to the total fear he just put into the class that she doesn’t even hear a whisper follow them out.
She turns to face him, taking in the casual slump of his shoulders, the way he looks ready for a conversation instead of a fight.
“I know you gotta write me a referral or whatever,” he says without preamble, no anger or excuse in his tone. “But I was just tired of hearing them bitch and moan over a simple fucking direction. Not like you up there asking for the sun and fucking moon.” He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Sorry I was an asshole ‘bout it, though.”
It's more than she’s ever heard him say at one time, and admittedly she's somewhat taken aback by the casualness with which he drops curse words into his everyday speech. But what she's struck by the most is the succinctness of his explanation and the apology that she wasn’t expecting.
It's a maturity she doesn't always see in the adults she works with, much less the seventh graders she teaches.
And while it's not an appropriate way for him to deal with his frustration, and it’s not at all a sustainable classroom management technique for him to step in as her anger translator every time the class gets out of hand, she can’t say she doesn’t appreciate the gesture -- as inappropriate and somewhat misguided as it is.
Which is more or less what she tells him, along with a gentle warning for him to watch his language.
“Sorry, Ms. Howard,” he says, expression slightly chagrined. He rubs the underside of his chin with his thumb. “”Will this referral get me suspended?”
She furrows her brows at him.
“I mean, it’s your first one, so it shouldn’t.”
He narrows his eyes at her, like he can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but the look on her face must be so genuinely perplexed that he answers without any hostility.
“Not my first one.”
She stares at him, dumbfounded, because other than this outburst, she’s barely heard three words in a row from him. He has a C bordering on a D in her class right now, but that’s more a function of his missing work and absences than his ability level, and when she sees him in the halls or at lunch he’s always just by himself.
“How many do you have?”
He shrugs.
“Two. One from Mr. Fuller, one from Mr. Flanagan.” He scowls, though not at her -- more a general look of distaste, like life itself has offended him. “Can’t stand their dumbasses.”
“Ash,” she chides, though she has to fight to maintain a neutral expression. She’s not exactly a fan of those two herself. James Fuller does just about the bare minimum to not get fired, and Peter Flanagan seems to actively hate teenagers.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, then crosses his arms in front of his chest. “They are, though.”
She attempts to give him a severe look at that, but her heart isn’t really in it, so she probably just looks constipated.
After a moment, she tilts her head at him, her tone gently reproachful.
“We’re barely a month into school, Ash.”
He draws his eyebrows together, his shoulders tensing up.
“Yeah, well. That’s long enough to know whether or not someone’s a --.” He catches her raised eyebrow, the stern arc of it causing him to clear his throat. “An idiot.”
She sighs, then crosses her arms in front of her chest, considering the young teen in front of her.
“I don’t want you to get suspended, because you’ve already missed enough school," she finally says. He winces a bit at that, a flicker of guilt in his eyes before his expression wrinkles back into a low glower. She doesn’t say it to call him out -- but he did miss three days last week, and two the week before and she’s worried that he might go out for suspension and just not come back. He wouldn’t be the first kid to do so. "So I won't write you a referral."
He inclines his head infinitesimally, his features relaxing something she can only describe as a soft grimace.
“Cool.”
“But --.” She holds up a finger between them. “I am going to call your brother and ask him to come in for a meeting.”
He tips his head to the side.
“How’d you know it’s just me and my brother?”
She furrows her brows at him, confused as to why he looks so confused.
“You wrote about him in your letter to your future self.”
It’s the only writing assignment she’s gotten from him so far -- a handwritten half page that had just barely met the expectations of the assignment. He’d written a scant two sentences each when talking about his interests and his plans for the future, but his brother had gotten an entire paragraph dedicated to him. The obvious affection with which Ash had written about him was at odds with the permanent scowl he wore, had endeared him to her despite his tendency to not turn in any homework.
“You actually read that shi --.” He catches himself before he can put the final sound to the word, gives a slight cough to cover it up. “I didn’t think you’d actually read those.”
“I told you all I would.”
He shrugs.
“Yeah, but teachers be sayin’ all typa shit." He's looking at another kid down the hall who's slowly making their way to the bathroom, so he doesn't catch the look of complete exasperation on her face. "Don’t mean they actually, you know, mean it."
She gives a short, small huff.
"Well, I meant it and I read it, so I know how important he is to you.”
Ash looks away, a slight tinge of red dusting his cheeks.
“I mean, he ain’t that important.”
She has to fight off the impulse to both roll her eyes and smile tenderly at him; instead, she just tilts her head at him, considering the tense set of his shoulders.
“Is it better to call him after work hours?”
He shakes his head.
“Prolly before that. He owns a bar, so.” He shrugs. “Less people comin’ ‘round before five.”
She nods as she tucks that little tidbit of information away about his brother.
“I’ll call him during my prep and set something up, and the three of us can have a meeting to make sure that the rest of the quarter can go smoothly, ok?”
He looks at her for a moment, then gives a half shrug and a slight nod.
“Aight Ms. Howard.”
“Alright, Ash.” She gestures towards the class. “You feel ok about heading back into class, or do you need a moment to get yourself together?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m not, like, crazy pissed or anything. Just didn’t think it was right -- them treatin’ you that shitty.” She rubs her fingers across her temple because she really will have to give him some kind of write-up if he keeps on cursing this freely. He catches her expression and gives her a rueful glance. “Sorry -- imma work on it.”
“Thank you, Ash.” She gives him a small smile. “And I do appreciate you wanting to stick up for me.”
He shrugs and looks away, though he can’t quite hide the pleased look on his face.
“It’s whatever, Miss.”
She has last hour prep, so as soon as the kids file out for the day, she looks up Ash in Synergy and scrolls through his profile for a bit.
He’s been in the district since kindergarten, and there’s nothing really of note until third grade, when he’d been withdrawn twice in the same year and then re-enrolled at the same school. The same thing happened in fourth grade, and in fifth grade he hadn’t been enrolled in the district at all. She wonders if he’d been homeschooled at that time or done online school in some capacity and makes a mental note to check his cumulative file.
In sixth grade she notices that he’d been withdrawn after the first two weeks and then re-enrolled a week later, which she knows probably means he hadn’t shown up for the first ten days, was dropped by the system and then had to be re-enrolled to attend school.
Well, she muses, given his enrollment history, she should probably be grateful that he’s shown up to class as much as he has.
She clicks over to the parent/guardian tab and finds only one listing -- his brother, Fezco O’Neill. She chews the corner of her lip then clicks over to the emergency contact tab and finds that it doesn’t have anyone else listed other than his brother either.
It’s rare enough that it makes her sit back in her chair and think about the perpetually scowling boy in her 8th period class.
He hadn’t mentioned any other family in his assignment, but she just figured that was because he didn’t have much of a relationship with anyone else -- not that there just wasn’t anyone else, period.
She dials the number listed on the screen, moving a pad of paper closer in case she needs to take any notes.
It rings twice before the line picks up on the other end.
“This is Fez.”
His voice is deeply pleasant, a slow drawl that immediately puts her at ease.
“Hi Mr. O’Neill, this is Lexi Howard,” she starts, her voice deepening into what Cassie always calls her teacher voice. “I’m Ash’s Language Arts teacher, how are you today?”
There’s a pause long enough that for a moment she wonders if he hung up on her. She’s just about to ask if he’s still there when she hears him clear his throat.
“Hi, Ms. Howard, I’m good. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m doing well, thank you for asking.” She doodles a flower on the corner of her pad of paper. “I was hoping you might have a second to talk about Ash?”
“Definitely,” he replies, and she can hear him settling into a chair on the other end. “What’s goin’ on wit’ him?”
She takes a deep breath and steels herself a bit. It’s always a bit of a crapshoot on how guardians will take the news that their child has misbehaved, though given the way Ash immediately took accountability for his actions, she hopes she won’t have too much trouble from his brother.
“Well, he had a bit of an outburst today in class.”
“Was he an asshole to you?”
His voice lessens its drawl, becomes sharper at the edges.
“No, no,” she says quickly, wanting to reassure him. “Not to me, not at all.”
He gives a small sigh of relief on the other end of the line.
“Ok, good. I woulda been surprised.” He pauses, then continues on with an amused lilt in his voice. “Not that he’d been an asshole ‘cause, you know, that ain’t real surprisin’, but that he’d been one to you.” He pauses for a moment, his next words hesitant and hushed, like he’s telling her a secret. “He likes you.”
She smiles and hopes he can hear it in the tone of her voice.
“And I like having him in my class, which is why I’m calling.” She clears her throat. “He already has two referrals, and a third one is an automatic two-day suspension. I don’t really think what he did warrants a referral and even if I did, I’m worried about him missing more class than he already has, so my, um, compromise, I guess, was to call you in for a meeting so we could talk about how to make sure he has a successful rest of the quarter.”
“Oh.” His voice softens, a small puff of sound tinged with surprise. “Appreciate that, Ms. Howard -- you not giving him another referral.” He clears his throat. “And I’m good to meet whenever you are.”
She clicks over to her calendar and scans the next day.
“Tomorrow ok? Right after school?”
“Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses for a moment, the phone rustling for a moment like he’s pressed it against his ear and shoulder. “And I just, um, head up to the office right after school and have ‘em let you know I’m there?”
“Yup, and they’ll just call me up and I’ll come get you.”
“Aight Ms. Howard,” he says in his slow, pleasant drawl. “I’ll be there.”
“Awesome, Mr. O’Neill. I look forward to speaking with you.”
She’s about to hang up the phone when she hears him clear his throat.
“Can I, um, ask what he did? Like, what was his -- what’d you say -- outburst?”
“Oh, he, um --.” She huffs a wry laugh. “He told the class to shut the fuck up.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line.
“And you not givin’ him a referral for that shit?” He asks in a tone that might almost be teasing. “I’m guessing that class needed to hear it then.”
“Well,” she says after a moment, amusement leaking through to her words. “Like I said, I don’t want him to get suspended.”
He laughs, low and warm, and she can’t help but smile at the sound of it.
“Aight Ms. Howard, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you then, Mr. O’Neill.”